Welcome Home
by PineappleScientist
Summary: Angel is a 17 year old boy with a ominous past in Gotham, and an abusive past who happens to be Alfred Pennyworth's nephew. With nowhere to go, and a murder being investigated he stays in the Wayne Manor, eventually finding a calling. OCxmultiple
1. Prologue: A City of Evil

The rain poured down like acid and every word my father spoke was knocking me down to the ground.

"You'll never do anything right will you?" He asked me, his tone made me wish that these four walls never existed, so that when he shoved me against it, and threw the clay vase in my direction, the acid could melt him to the bone.

Maybe…it could melt him enough for him to love me.

I felt the vase hit my right eye and part of my skull.

I watched.

Dissociative and passive.

I felt like I wasn't in my body anymore and I passed out, as my body slid down and felt the cold marble floor welcome me.

Awakening.

I hear sirens. I open my eyes wide, blood is on the wall by my head, I can't see in my right eye.

"Police! Don't move." I looked up, struggling to keep my head up. It was throbbing, blood pulsating out of my eye and my head. They point the gun at me, and I stay frozen.

They stare at me, as I groan in pain.

In a flurry of events, I was at a hospital, then being questioned for the death of my father, then I was here again.

The rain pouring down harder here, than ever before.

But there are never flowers that grow from the concrete jungle that is this hell.

Gotham City.


	2. Chapter 1: Home is Where the Heart is

I loaded my things out of the trunk as the social worker that came along stared at me.

"Are you going to be alright here on your own?" he asked, his eyes scanning mine.

My eyes were cold, lifeless, and even more-so due to my cornea transplants. One eye was the normal jade color, the other was a cold and desolate grey. The scar to the side of my head was still there, and at times, I swear I can still feel the blood pulsating through.

It was just a faint reminder of my father's abusive nature, covered by my black bangs.

My arms were crossed over each other in a guarded manner, as I rolled my eyes.

This was my first time speaking in three days.

"Dandy, but wasn't I a suspect? Aren't you supposed to keep an eye on me? Or is that too hard for even the police in Texas to do? To escort a minor, and a suspect of a murderer to make sure he doesn't escape. Gee it's that kind of shoddy police work that makes the taxpayers swoon and just throw money at you, don't it?"

I asked, lighting up a cigarette which the social worker promptly took out of my mouth.

If you can't tell by now, I'm jaded.

"You can't be out here smoking. You're under aged! Jesus Christ, Angel." I scoffed rolling my eyes.

'It's my choice if I want cancer or not.' I thought to myself, staring at the cigarette with want.

Seeing that I wasn't going to humor him with a comment, he sighed, before putting his hand on my shoulder, prompting a glare from me.

"Listen, Angel. I know it's going to be hard to adjust here. Your dad's dead, your mother's been dead, the least you can do is honor their memory and try to live in peace. I don't know what conflicts you so much, all I know is that deep inside, you're a good kid." He wouldn't understand, no one would, and I wish he'd take that in to consideration before going all preachy on me.

"Let's go with your theory and say I am a _good kid_." I stated, my eyes were staring at him, cold and hard. He seemed to swallow, not liking the way I was staring at him.

"This place," I continued, pausing for a second and pulling my cigarette out of his cold hands.

"It swallows up _good kids_. I would know. Hell it's such a monster it swallows up people, and spits them out, but only if it's done with you. You're lucky if you just crawl out of the digestive tract and through it's fucking asshole, chief." I said, tapping the cigarette between my fingers, getting out the ash.

"I used to live here, so please don't tell me I'm a good kid, those words are the least comforting words you can possibly say in this shitfest." I finished, taking a pull from my cigarette before unpacking my trunk, my suitcases, and a duffel bag I often carry around for slaying.

The look on his face, grim and sad, proved I made my point. He couldn't vouch that this was a good place, and that I'd need to adjust to its environment to succeed.

Not with people like the Joker running about.

You don't adjust to Gotham. You just don't. I've got proof of that, and **she's** in Arkham Asylum.

As the man got in to the van and left, I sighed as I looked ahead of the path leading to the mansion.

I didn't like being mean to him, but I have a big issue when it comes to authority figures.

The gates weren't open, and there were no cars in sight. No one was probably home.

Considering it was a weekday, noon, Uncle Alfred was out getting groceries, back when we kept in touch or when he'd visit home he'd often do that, every Monday in the afternoon he'd go shopping.

But I don't see how anyone can be out and about on rainy Monday. But I'm not even usually out and about during the day.

I can't compare myself to others, considering I have insomnia.

Oh and did I mention I see ghosts and I battle vampires?

Yeah. I'm crazy. Speaking of ghosts, I felt one in this mansion. I frowned a bit, and sighed. I hoped it was just in my imagination. Part of what caused my strained relationship with my father was the paranormal.

I was just wondering how these people would deal with me, if they were to be my guardians. Alfred has always understood my depression, insomnia, and neurotic behavior.

I've met Bruce only once, and he seemed nice, but he only seemed it. I don't know if he is or not.

Too be honest, he came off as a fake.

I didn't get to meet his adopted son, Dick though. Alfred seemed to think highly of him, but according to him, Bruce and Dick had a falling and he doesn't live here anymore.

Alfred, also told me a few years ago he took in some other kid, a kid named Tom or Tim or something.

Maybe we could be friends, maybe we'll have similar interests.

I know most people aren't like me though, so my perception isn't that warped like other people's.

I'll just have to wait and see, then…

Closing my eyes, and leaning against the gate I breathed in the air around me. This was technically not Gotham, this was Crest Hill, but I consider it a part of Gotham. The air smells the same, the people here are all rich though, Gotham was rife with people living in poverty, going from paycheck to paycheck.

Every day for every person is a struggle, to pay bills, to keep a roof over your head, to make amends with yourself, to look yourself in the mirror and be okay.

My father was struggling.

My mother probably struggled.

So, I guess I wonder at times, if money makes someone less of a person. But at the same time…

My father was consumed with greed and money, it's what drove him to work even when he didn't need to. But I forget that without sin, you can't be a person. Which is why I forgive him.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn't hear a car pull up.

Bruce.

"Angel? Is that you? It's been so long!" I opened my eyes, and pushed my body away from the gate, putting my cigarette out on the brick wall behind me. **He** probably won't be so **thrilled** when I tell him **why** I'm here.

"Yeah it's me. How have you been, Bruce?" I asked in monotone.

I could tell he was being fake, and that he just really wanted answers.

I would answer them.

He just wouldn't like the answers I have to give.

"Good, what brings you near Gotham?" he asked, and then he eyed the luggage surrounding my form, as if it wasn't already obvious that I was visiting or staying here.

He wasn't stupid, and neither was I, he shouldn't need to ask.

"My father is dead, and I can't live alone. Alfred was the only suitable choice." His facial expression softened into a frown. And I raised a brow.

He seemed to be sympathetic of my situation, genuine, for once.

"Oh." He said simply before looking away.

"That's not all of it though…But, can we go inside? I've been standing in the rain for hours and it's starting to get cold, Bruce." He nodded.

"Sure, hop in the car. I'll drive us up, it's a long walk." I did as told, putting my luggage in the trunk before hopping in as we rode up the path and he parked the car; eventually he led me to the dining room, we sat down at the table, across from each other.

I stared at the room adjacent to the dining room. The kitchen.

Where Alfred usually was if he wasn't reading a book in the living room because he's already done everything or no one was home to be attended to.

"So...What's the rest of it, Angel?" He asked his eyes serious. I turned my gaze back to him, lazily.

I've never really seen him like this, I was a bit startled, but I kept my poker-face on.

"I'm a suspect in my father's murder. Social services dropped me off in Gotham while the Police back in Texas investigate but they also have a few other suspects, I'm a key suspect due to the fact that I was at the crime scene when it happened." I stated plainly. He seemed a bit horrified, I wasn't and I guess that's the scariest part.

"So he didn't die naturally? And…you witnessed it?" I shook my head, and lifted my bangs to reveal the scar and the mismatched cornea.

"No. My father knocked me out cold. My unconscious body was at the crime scene, and I had just woken up when the cops got there." He shook his head, and cringed a bit. I stared, skeptically.

"But you wouldn't have been able to have done it." I shook my head this time, staring in to his blue eyes with calm disposition.

It's nice that he trusted me, but I'll take logic and facts over emotional or bias any day.

"I'd even suspect me. Father and I have been having problems for a while now, and then there's also the fact that he wrote me out of his will, that I fit the stereotype of a serial killer, and that I had plane tickets to Gotham beforehand. They thought I'd make an escape to go see Uncle Alfred, but I was really going to see a friend."

Sharah. And she's more than a friend. At one point she was my everything, the very force that pumped blood in to my heart.

But now she's that nothingness.

The heavy feeling in my lungs that causes shallow breathing.

It's the void that fills my heart, and drowns it.

Bruce rubbed his chin. "I see. Are you sure you were completely passed out? Your father had a lot of business enemies that could've set this up for him."

I nodded. "His whole business is under investigation, Bruce. And I know I was completely passed out, my body was in the same position it was when I felt myself slid against the wall. And even if I were going to try to kill my father, I wouldn't have picked now. My mind's been elsewhere, but it hasn't been in fantasies of murder and violence." Bruce sighed, and rubbed his temples.

He probably knew from Alfred that I wasn't the most mentally stable kid, and he was judging me. His blue eyes scanned me up and down, the rain slicking off of my hair as he studied me.

He was looking for something.

As mentally unstable as I was, and however normal death seemed to me, killing always seemed like one of the most horrid things someone could ever do to me. Whatever he was looking for, he found it. But he stayed silent, his gaze still burning in to me, but more concerned than analytical now.

"I'm sorry." I said, looking down at the floor, if there was one thing I hated more than people being fake to me; it's when I'm a burden to them. He didn't say anything for a while before pulling me in to an awkward hug, which prompted me to push away from him.

"I don't like touching, remember?" I asked, he nodded.  
>"Oh right, I'm sorry." I nodded, the silence in the room growing awkward as we both looked down for a second, before we both tried to speak.<p>

"I think I'm going to go-" I started. "Well if you ever need any-" He started.

He cleared his throat.

"You first." He was being polite.

"I think I'm going to go get some rest…I'm not usually awake in the day time, and I already know what you're going to say, Bruce. So save it. I don't need comforting, I'm not really upset, and you suck at it."

I left the room with his mouth hanging wide open, as I went in to the living room and pulled my luggage upstairs in to the guest room I always stayed in.

The white bed sheets covered by the red and brown quilt with golden weaving, and the familiar red wallpaper with golden seams greeted me.

They weren't colors that particularly invited me, and I hate mansions, but my surroundings were speaking to me.

They were telling me something as I laid down.

Sleep enveloped me like an ocean of dreams.

Welcome home.

**A/N:** Hello all who are reading this. This is one of the first stories I've written in a while, and feedback is always welcome. I want criticism, suggestions, the good and the bad. Just don't flame, I find flaming stupid because there's no reason to flame someone who just wrote a story you don't necessarily enjoy, go read something else then. Especially if you're not being constructive. Well. I didn't get any reviews last time, but I got some favorites, so that's always exciting. Let me know what you like or dislike, I'm interested in turning this in to a really long and interesting story, involving Jason, Damian, Dick, Tim, Roy, Bruce, Alfred, Jason Blood, Zatanna, etcetera. Expect Dick to pop up in the next chapter, as Angel takes a trip to Bludhaven and we learn a bit of his past life there! But why does he hate Gotham so much? Continue reading, but I'm sure it has to do with his ex-girlfriend, Sharah.


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